


Surrender, Surrender

by Eluvia



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Demonic Possession, Dreamsharing, M/M, Magic, Not TRK Compliant, Rating and Warnings Subject to Change, maybe the real demons were the friends we made along the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 18:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11788725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eluvia/pseuds/Eluvia
Summary: Everyone warned them about the third sleeper. No one warned them about the things that were already awake.





	Surrender, Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I started this before TRK came out, got thoroughly jossed, and forgot about it until now. I've made a few slight revisions to what I have so far that bring it a little more in line with TRK, but consider this generally canon-divergent.

“Are we just not going to talk about it?” Gansey asked. It was late – or early, judging by the faint light coming in through the windows, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Ronan had just woken up a few minutes ago, but he felt just as exhausted as Gansey looked.

He raised an eyebrow and waited.

“About the cave,” Gansey clarified, and the tension Ronan hadn’t even realized he was carrying seeped out of his shoulders. He _wasn't_ talking about the cave, but of all the conversation topics Ronan was avoiding, it ranked near the bottom of the list.

 _The cave_. Because that's what their lives had come to: a series of life-changing, world-shattering events cut down to mundane shorthand and talked about (or, in Ronan's case, _not_ talked about) over morning coffee.

Or afternoon coffee. Sometimes middle-of-the-night coffee. Ronan was starting to lose track.

 _There's nothing to talk about_ , Ronan didn't say, because Ronan didn't lie. It had been a week since they'd emerged from the cave, and he'd expected – something. He'd given Blue his light and waited in the darkness until she'd sent him away, and he'd left the way they came, finding his way back to a noticeably panicked Gansey, a quietly panicked Adam, and an indifferent, incomprehensible Gwenllian. And then, with no way through to Blue from their location, they made their way back out. Really, if Ronan _had_ denied that there was something to talk about, no one could have found fault with his argument.

But there was Gansey, and the strange power his voice held – had always held, but there was a world of difference between charisma and necromancy. And there was Adam, and the steadiness that had settled into him like an anchor, strange in its newness but almost familiar in its inevitability. And there was Blue, and the unflinching way she'd walked through the same lake that had shown them the worst things imaginable.

And there was Ronan.

Gansey was still looking at him patiently. _There's nothing to talk about,_ he thought. “Not yet,” he said instead. 

Gansey's mouth did the thing it did when he was trying not to show his disappointment. It reminded him, suddenly, of Declan, and Ronan's mood soured.

“I'm going back to bed,” he said. At his shoulder, Chainsaw let out a sleepy yawn, as if to emphasize the constant state of exhaustion that had been Ronan Lynch for the past four weeks.

Gansey's expression softened instantly. "All right," he said, and Ronan waved vaguely in his direction as he passed.

===

It was early – it was barely even daylight – but Blue was wide awake, moving quietly through 300 Fox Way. She was supposed to be meeting Gansey for breakfast later in the morning. She wasn't sure whether or not he'd be awake yet, or whether or not Noah would be present enough to let her into Monmouth, but waiting for a more reasonable hour meant she would be less likely to avoid Maura. Things were tense between her and her mother right now, and the last thing she wanted was to start her day off with an unpleasant conversation she wasn't ready to have.

Blue made it outside before anyone saw her, but then nearly tripped over Orla. Her cousin sat on the step, her long, brown legs stretched out in front of her so her bare toes could scrunch in the grass, a steaming cup of coffee clutched in her hands. “About time,” she said, and Blue rolled her eyes. “And don't give me that look, I got up at the ass-crack of dawn just for you.” Orla tossed Blue something, which she caught awkwardly. It was a red scarf – a beautiful thing, silky and soft.

Blue looked at it skeptically. Despite the early hour, she could feel sweat beginning to gather behind her knees, and the black tank top she wore under her ripped t-shirt already felt like a mistake under the hot sun. “Thanks,” she said slowly. “Is it going to get cold?” 

“Not where _you're_ going,” Orla said. 

===

Ronan woke up to Blue crawling into his bed. “Rude,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. There was nothing in his hands; no dream-stuff, no nightmare-stuff. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about. _Must not have been anything worth taking_ , he thought, but the thought didn't feel quite true.

"Eat," Blue said, tossing a bag of trail mix at him.

"Is this some bizarre fantasy of yours?" he asked.

"Mm, yeah," she said, deadpan. "Nothing does it for me like unshowered boys eating dried fruit. Now _eat_."

He would have flipped her off, but his hands were busy tearing the bag open. He was famished, he realized as he devoured it handful by handful. Almost as hungry as he was tired.

"Gross," Blue said, her nose wrinkling as she watched him eat, but she restrained herself from further commentary until he finished the whole bag. "Gansey said you haven't been out of here in ages, and he was worried that you haven’t been eating."

"I was just talking to him," Ronan said, relaxing back down into his pillows. 

"That was two _days_ ago, Ronan," she said, and he was glad his eyes were already closed again, because the note of concern in her voice was annoying enough without having to see whatever way her eyebrows were twisting.

Blue was saying something else, but he was too tired to hear the words, let alone respond. _Let me answer for you,_ a voice said; it was familiar, almost, politeness coloring its tones, a little bit of Henrietta drawl softening the letters imperceptibly, making it irresistible.

Ronan wanted to say no anyway, out of spite, but he was too tired to argue, and the voice – whatever it was – took his silence as a yes.


End file.
